


World of Warcraft: Out of the Shadows

by The_Pyromancer



Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2019-03-24 18:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13817019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Pyromancer/pseuds/The_Pyromancer
Summary: Vol'Jin has died. With his dying words he's passed on leadership of the Horde to Sylvanas Windrunner. Determined to carry on his legacy and make the Horde stronger than ever before, Sylvanas acts quickly to mend relations with the Alliance to once again fight together against the Burning Legion. She'll need to overcome past mistakes to move forward towards the future.





	1. Death of the Warchief

**Disclaimer:**  I don't own World of Warcraft.

 **Author's Note:**  Started writing this after the Legion trailer dropped, but before the game was released. So the events in this start from the trailer and the events of Broken Shore. Life intervened from this being completed and posted sooner.

* * *

**Chapter 1: Death of the Warchief**

* * *

Sylvanas stood still as death. If she'd needed to breath she'd probably have found the smoke-filled air too much for her. Many types of medicine and incense had been burned to try to defuse their healing properties into the very air of the room. As a High Elf, she would've found the method laughably backwards. Now, as one of the Undead, she couldn't help but wonder what the point was. In the end, everything died.

" _I have never trusted you! Nor would I have ever imagined, in our darkest time... that you would be the one to save us. The spirits have granted me clarity... a vision. They whisper a name. Many will not understand, but you must step outta da shadows... and lead. You must... be... Warchief…"_

Vol'Jin, Warchief of the Horde, had said the words with the last of his breath before finally succumbing to his wound delivered at the hand of a demon. Sylvanas had stood there silently after the words had been spoken. Still as death she'd stood there as Vol'Jin had been wrapped and prepared for death rites by the shamans and priests of the Horde. She'd stood there still as Baine and Lor'themar had gently lifted up the litter holding Vol'Jin's covered body and carried him out of Grommash Hall. She'd stood there, alone in front of the throne of the Warchief.

Finally, after what had seemed like an eternity, a large green form had walked confidently into the room. Sylvanas didn't turn to look at him, she knew who he was.

"Warchief," said Thrall confidently. Sylvanas admired how one who still breathed with life could confront death, both literally and figuratively, with such strength. And with how he could accept his own failings and refused to retake an office so many wished for him to claim. An office that had now been passed on to her. "What are your orders?"

Sylvanas slowly turned towards Thrall, studying him with an icy glare. Thrall just stared back with all the confidence, calm and friendliness that had been his since he'd received enlightenment and become a shaman that could truly commune with the spirits that gave him strength. After a moment Sylvanas spoke, her voice sounding like it belonged to someone else and she was outside of herself and watching.

"Gather up our soldiers," commanded Sylvanas. "I will speak to them."

"Yes Warchief," said Thrall simply, turning around to quickly spread her order. When he was gone Sylvanas looked over her shoulder once more at where Vol'Jin, and Thrall himself, had once been seated. Then she turned away and walked out of Grommash Hall. There was work to be done.

* * *

Thrall acted on her orders quickly. Soon he had gathered a significant portion of the might of the Horde. Sylvanas knew she should be comforted by the strength on display before her. Strength that was now hers to command. But as she surveyed the crowd all she could see were the faces of the dead and dying on the battlefield as the Burning Legion marched towards them, never slowing in the least. Vol'Jin's broken form rested on the ground in front of her. His words echoed once more in her ears.

" _Do not let da Horde...die this day…"_

"Vol'jin is dead," said Sylvanas solemnly, her voice carrying across the forces of the Horde easily as if carried by the wind itself. "Who among you will help me avenge him?"

The words were simple, but they stirred the assembled forces below her. Orcs, Trolls, Goblins, Tauren, Blood Elves and her own fellow undead started to cry and chant in newfound fervor. Their cries soon started to fill every inch of Orgrimmar, letting everyone know what they stood for. "For the Horde! For the Horde! For the Horde! For the Horde!"

Sylvanas just stood there silently, soaking it all in. She noticed Thrall standing to the side, his expression giving nothing away. Next to him stood Baine and Lor'themar, both also keeping their emotions to themselves. These were the three men she now had trust to help her succeed in getting her promised revenge on the Burning Legion. They were going to need to have a chat…

* * *

"That was a moving declaration," complimented Baine as he shuffled around the table and took a seat at his spot. His chair was marked with the emblem of his people, the Tauren. Across the table from Baine was Lor'themar and the mark of the Blood Elves. Next to Lor'themar sat the empty chair of Trade Prince Jastor Gallywix, leader of the Bilgewater Cartel Goblins. At the foot of the table was Thrall, the mark of the Orcs above his chair. At the head of the table sat Sylvanas, the mark of the Forsaken, her mark, was etched right above where her head rested. Vol'jin's chair, that representing the Trolls of the Horde, was moved to the side of the room, away from the table.

"Thank you," replied Sylvanas. "I plan to act on those words quickly. But first, what is the word on the Trolls after Vol'Jin's death?"

Thrall was the one who spoke here, which was unsurprising with how friendly and respected he was with the Darkspear Trolls. "The Trolls are still deciding their new leader, but all candidates have stated their intention to stay a part of the Horde. Nothing I've seen or heard indicates that we won't be able to count on them in the future."

"Very good," commented Sylvanas. "And where is Gallywix?"

"He ran off after the proclamation from Vol'Jin yelling something about "stock crashes" and

"salvage efforts"," replied Lor'themar. "He did stop to ask me to convey his "sincere sadness at the death of Vol'Jin", his "compliments on your ascension" Warchief, and his "continued loyalty to the Horde"." He leaned forward in his seat, his hands clamped together as he regarded Sylvanas. "For what it's worth, I believe everything he said is sincere. At least as sincere as a goblin could ever be."

"As long as the Trade Prince has the Horde's best interests in mind, then we can leave him to his own devices," said Sylvanas. "In any case, this meeting will probably go much smoother without him here. You three are the leaders of your factions. As Vol'Jin trusted your advice and wisdom, so do I. Are you all willing to serve the Horde in the same capacity?"

Thrall sat up straight and pounded his fist into his bare chest. "I and the Orcs of the Horde are at your command Warchief."

Baine responded next, with little hesitation. The Tauren leader's father Cairne Bloodhoof had been a strong supporter of the Forsaken's inclusion into the Horde and Baine had always tried to follow his father's example since his own elevation to Chieftan. "You have the loyalty of myself and my people Warchief."

Lor'themar gave Sylvanas a slight bow of his head. "As Regent Lord of Quel'Thalas, I Lor'themar Theron and my Blood Elves promise to follow you and the Horde."

"Very good. Now, have there been any rumblings among your advisors or high-ranking commanders or religious leaders?"

Her fellow leaders didn't respond as quickly to the question as they had the one prior. Lor'themar was the first to answer. "Of course, there have been plenty of concerns already directed my way since the words appointing you came out of Vol'Jin's mouth. Indeed, there were plenty of rumblings when he was injured in battle. None of these I believe are serious though. I reminded my people of your connection to us as Ranger General and all that you've done for us in the past. That quieted all but those who most hate the undead or those who would have complained no matter what outcome happened."

 _The type of complaints and politics I hated when I was alive no doubt,_  thought Sylvanas.  _I was just as petty and superficial while alive, although in different ways. My first death brought me anger. My second resolve. My third, clarity. Others will never be so lucky._

Sylvanas appreciated Lor'themar's blunt words and his quick support of her and hoped he was right. She'd hate to have to raise a hand against her former people to carry through with the new duty that had been thrust upon her. Distaste for a task had never stopped her before though, and it wouldn't stop her now if needed. She turned to Baine, drawing out his answer next. "Thank you Lor'themar. And what about the Tauren, Baine?"

"They are slightly more uneasy about these changes," admitted Baine. "Feelings on our partnership with the Forsaken have always been mixed. You've been stalwart allies and were vouched for by my father but..."

"But that advice also came from Magatha Grimtotem," finished Sylvanas. "And since she killed your father and tried to take over the Tauren, the Forsaken are seen as possible puppets of her."

_Ah, this old problem. I'd almost forgotten about the politics among the Tauren. They're so simplistic at times, I forgot they also had disagreements on such a level as this. Magatha helped me once, but now she's just a thorn in my side._

"Correct. But, while we do not follow the same spirits as those of Vol'Jin, our own shamans and druids have indicated that this is in fact the right path for us to take. Only the few blinded by their own fear and hatred truly stand against your new position as Warchief."

Thrall chose that moment to speak up. "Our own spiritual leaders, including my own conversations with the spirits, indicate much the same." His expression turned to one of dark amusement. "Of course, even more than the Tauren that doesn't stop those who have complaints. I doubt any of the slurs I've heard are new to you, but they were impressively colorful nonetheless. And there are still those who wish that I once again become Warchief. I would like you to know for certain that I never intend to sit upon that throne and be called by that title." His expression became bright once again. "If I was Warchief I would have less time to spend with my family, and I'd hate to give that up."

Baine and Lor'themar both smiled and chuckled at the comment. Sylvanas allowed herself a rare half smile. Thrall's flippant attitude was almost comforting. She also knew, through that inner sense that had served her well in the politics of Elvish society, that all three men were completely sincere in every word they had spoken to her. The candor they displayed to her could've been misconstrued as disrespect, but she chose instead to view it as the symbol of a new Horde. One that would need to be stronger than ever if it wanted to survive.

"Thank you for the reports, and your honesty," said Sylvanas, drawing attention back to herself. "As I've said before, the Burning Legion is our primary concern now. We will stop their invasion and get revenge for Vol'Jin's death. To do that we'll need to prepare ourselves quickly. Deal with any possible turmoil before it happens. Understood?"

There were nods of assent as her fellow leaders' expressions turned serious once more. She continued to address them, "this means we will be cutting down on skirmishes with the Alliance where possible. I will be calling an end to the Ashenvale conflict and ordering our forces to pull back to the border of the Barrens."

"The Warsong Orcs aren't going to be happy to hear that," commented Lor'themar. "They've been fighting for years for every inch of ground in that forest. Plus, it also means we'll have less lumber and other supplies."

"I believe it'll be the opposite actually," commented Baine. "The supplies, and warriors, we use in the fight are worth much more than we receive. This will allow us access to some of our most experienced warriors who have been fighting non-stop for years. My own advisors have kept asking me to bring forward the issue of the massive destruction and deforestation of the land there and to ask that we pull out. They will be glad to hear of this move."

"I agree with Baine," said Thrall. "Ashenvale was a mistake I started and one that Garrosh made worse. I would be happy to see it ended. I also agree with Lor'themar, the Warsong clan will be furious. As such, I will personally deal with them and convince them that there is more honor in leaving a worthless battle and fighting against the Legion."

"I don't envy you the task," chuckled Lor'themar. He looked over at Sylvanas. "Am I right to guess that Ashenvale isn't the only theater we'll be leaving?"

"You are," replied Sylvanas. "We'll fortify along the Stonetalon Mountains and the northern Barrens, but most of our forces there will be redirected to fight the Legion. We shall do the same in Dustwallow Marsh. There isn't much of value there anyways beyond disease and the vitrified remains of a now useless port."

"Will we only be pulling forces out of Kalimdor?" asked Lor'themar.

"No, we will also be tightening our borders in the Eastern Kingdoms as well. We will be pulling out of the Western Plaguelands back to the Bulwark and to the borders of the Ghostlands around the Eastern Plaguelands."

"But the undead there…" started Lor'themar.

"Are no longer a threat," replied Sylvanas. "The Argent Crusade has already almost wiped them out, in both lands, and will do so without us. Our involvement was minimal anyways."

"I see," nodded Lor'themar, thinking on Sylvanas's words. "I see the wisdom. Andorhal isn't worth the blood that's been shed for it and every bit of land between the Bulwark and the sea is corrupted and useless."

"Exactly." Sylvanas then turned her gaze to Baine. "I need you to contact the druid Hamuul Runetotem and ask if he would be willing to prepare the largest force of druids he can. Contact the Night Elves if need be, I know he can."

Baine raised an eyebrow at the request. "Oh? And what will he be needing to do with those druids?"

"They will be sent to every patch of land in the Eastern Kingdoms that has been scorched, burnt or plagued and restore it," declared Sylvanas. Her words shocked her fellow leaders, their mouths hanging open in surprise. Thrall was the quickest to recover, a slight smile on his face.

"You've suddenly become environmentally conscious?" he asked, sounding amused.

"Not at all," replied Sylvanas with a smile of her own. "I have just decided it is time to deal with this problem once and for all."

"Did we not just decide to not spread out our forces?" asked Lor'themar. "Should we not request the druids' assistance against the Legion instead?"

"I feel this is a worthy trade off," commented Sylvanas. "I will of course be sending my best apothecaries to assist the druids in ridding the world of the plague for good."

"You're not worried for their safety in such a task?" asked Baine. "While they'll probably be invaluable, I would think that as one of the undead yourself you'd find issue with such a plan." Baine seemed to realize what he'd said only after the words had left his mouth and his expression turned slightly apologetic. "I mean no offense Warchief. But, it does seem unusual."

"I think you underestimate how much many of the Forsaken truly care about the living," replied Sylvanas. She gestured to herself. "This is a curse, nothing more."

While she'd been talking to Baine and Lor'themar, Thrall's face had contorted in thought. Suddenly comprehension dawned on his face. "She wants to make peace with the Alliance…" he muttered in realization. He looked up at a pleased Sylvanas. "That's what all of this is about, isn't it?"

"Truly?" asked Lor'themar, surprised. "Why?"

"Because we need them to fight the Burning Legion," replied Sylvanas. "And because I, the new Warchief was the one who called a retreat leaving the Alliance flank unguarded."

"And there's no way they're pleased by that," commented Blaine.

"It was a justified retreat," said Lor'themar. "Vol'Jin was down and we were being overrun. You made the right call."

Sylvanas was happy to hear her fellow elf's justification of her action. Unfortunately, his opinion didn't matter in this situation.

"But the Alliance won't see it like that," commented Thrall. "They hate betrayal as much as we do. Even if it's just perceived betrayal. And many among them have been looking for an excuse to wage war with us again."

"Yes," nodded Sylvanas. She locked gazes with Thrall. "Which is why after you recall the Warsong clan I would like you to head with all haste to Stormwind to talk to Varian about what happened and to tell him of the death of Vol'Jin."

Thrall shook his head suddenly. "I refuse," he said simply.

Sylvanas was shocked. Her eyes narrowed. "You refuse?" she repeated. "Why would you, of all people refuse to make peace with the Alliance. You are friendly with several of their leaders, are you not?"

"I am," nodded Thrall. "But I will not do this for you. It's not what is best for the Horde."

"Have you been caught by the same madness as Garrosh?" asked Sylvanas. This comment hit Thrall hard and he just returned her glare.

"I have not. But I know that I can't be the one to do this. You called the retreat. You're the new Warchief. You must be the one to talk to the Alliance and apologize. You must forge this new truce personally."

Sylvanas couldn't help but laugh at Thrall's little speech. "Ha! I'm their least favorite person, maybe only Gul'dan is more hated. They will kill me on sight and ask questions later." She looked over at Baine. "You are also friendly with Proudmoore and earned respect by defending Garrosh at his trial. You will go if Thrall will not."

Baine also shook his head sadly. "I cannot. I understand your reservations, but Vol'Jin's last words to you still linger in my ears. He said you must come out of the shadows. The spirits don't speak to me as they did Vol'Jin or do Thrall, but I still believe this is where it starts. I hope you can understand."

"Very well," said Sylvanas icily. She looked over at Lor'themar. "And your say on this matter?"

Lor'themar was quiet for a moment, and when he spoke next, it was softer than Sylvanas had ever heard him. "I will stand with whatever you command Warchief." His words were honest, but she also knew they weren't everything he had to say on the matter.

"You agree with them," said Sylvanas simply. Lor'themar nodded.

"I do."

Sylvanas stared at them; her fellow leaders, her advisors, her comrades in arms, and the individuals she respected the most of those who still managed to breath. They all said they stood with her, but they also stood against her. They honestly believed that this was the right course of action. She wanted to ignore them, to command them as Warchief to follow her orders. She also knew they were right. She hated them for that.

"Very well then," replied Sylvanas slowly. "I've heard what you have to say, and I agree." The faces of all three men visibly relaxed at her words. She hated them for that too. "I will travel, alone, to Stormwind." That declaration caught them by surprise.

"Without a guard?" asked Lor'themar.

"I am more than capable of protecting myself," replied Sylvanas. "I will also move quicker by myself. I do not tire, and neither does my steed. All haste is necessary in this situation, is it not? You are all needed here and among your respective people to make the transitions we are going through as painless as possible."

"Understood," nodded Thrall. He thumped his chest with his fist once more. "Your will be done."

"And I will contact Hamuul," said Baine.

"Ask the druids to start their efforts on restoring the Dead Scar," said Sylvanas. "They can work their way through the Ghostlands from Silvermoon. The corruption there is less than in the Plaguelands. It'll make a good first test.

"I will prepare for their arrival and any assistance they need then!" declared Lor'themar, his face shining at the prospect of finally healing the gaping wound that had long afflicted the lands he ruled. "If possible then we may just have our druids and apothecaries while in our borders and we can meet the Alliance side at Light Hope's Chapel?"

"Yes," nodded Sylvanas. "That sounds like it would be for the best. Is there anything else we must discuss?"

"Who will oversee the Horde in your absence Warchief?" asked Baine. "One of your rangers?"

Sylvanas shook her head. "They will control affairs in Undercity, but you will be in charge while I'm gone. Do you accept?"

Baine looked taken aback for a moment before recovering his composure. His face lit up at the honor and he thumped his fist against his chest. "I will lead the Horde well while you are in Stormwind."

"That I trust," said Sylvanas, giving a rare compliment. "Any objections?" she asked, looking to Lor'themar and Thrall. Both men shook their heads.

"None from me," replied Thrall.

"My assistance and loyalty is open to all leaders of the Horde," declared Lor'themar.

"Very good," preened Sylvanas. She stood up, pushing back her chair as she did so. "This meeting is adjourned. You have your duties, and I trust you to carry them out. Lor'themar, could you inform the Trade Prince of what transpired here today?"

Lor'themar inclined his head slightly. "It will be done."

"Then we have much work to do. For the Horde!"

"For the Horde!"

 _Yes, for the Horde,_  thought Sylvanas.  _If I have nothing else left then this is what I will protect to my last breath. No matter what I must do to do it..._


	2. Gifts of the Warchief

**Chapter 2: Gifts of the Warchief**

* * *

After completing all the necessary preparations, Sylvanas departed from Undercity the day after her meeting with her fellow leaders. As soon as the meeting had ended she'd stepped into a portal towards the underground city she called home. There had been a mountain of preparation to be done once there, but it would've only been insurmountable for the living. Very little could stop the dead for long. Moving as one, tireless mass her city had prepared to work with the other leaders, to pull back to the Bulwark, to send their best apothecaries to defeat the plague and to just generally function in her absence.

Her orders were followed quickly and efficiently. Sylvanas noticed that there was an almost festive quality to the air. It was similar to what enveloped the city on Hallow's End. She realized that it was something almost foreign to the Forsaken; pride. Her people were proud as they gazed upon her and called her Warchief. They were proud as they followed her orders to fight off the Legion, to reinvigorate the Horde, to fight the plague and to go to the defense of the living. For so long, their only purpose in their undeath was revenge. Then, with that revenge accomplished with the death of the Lich King, the Forsaken had been left with nothing. Now, their Dark Lady ruled the Horde, and they once again had something to fight for.

As she surveyed her people's preparations Vol'jin's voice once again echoed in her head. _"...you must step outta da shadows…"_

* * *

Sylvanas rode out of Undercity at sunset. The dark posed no threat to her. Both in life and undeath Sylvanas had never feared the dark and had always used it to her advantage. It was an old friend. The others wanted her to move out of the shadows, but that's only because they didn't know how to use them properly. She'd thought Vol'Jin as a Shadow Hunter might understand, but in the end, he'd been more of a warrior in the light. She'd come out of the shadows, but only on her terms. Traveling under the cover of darkness is where she planned to start.

On her skeletal horse she rode swiftly through Tirisfal Glades. The night was only just setting completely across the land as she entered the Silverpine Forest. Her mount ran down the paved road and she caught a glimpse of Shadowfang Keep resting up on top of a hill. It was a place that had twice caused her no small amount of trouble. Its halls were now quiet and empty, its former inhabitants all well and truly dead. No one defied Sylvanas Windrunner and lived long to tell of it.

 _Death claims all,_  she thought to herself as she passed Shadowfang Keep,  _but reborn thrice, how long will I have until my soul is finally claimed? And what awaits me beyond this realm?_

She soon came to a cross road and she motioned her mount to stop. She looked at the old sign and saw one arrow that pointed to the Hillsbrad Foothills. The second pointed off to the Ruins of Gilneas. Once a thriving human city protected by the Greymane Wall, now the city was a plagued wreck. A combination of their King's foolishness, the Cataclysm caused by the dragon Deathwing and Sylvanas's own attempts to invade the city had sent the populace fleeing for their lives. Even now, defenders fought to hold the ruins. Sylvanas knew that a rider she'd sent there several hours prior had already arrived by now. Soon, her forces would be pulling out of Gilneas to the surprise of the humans and their allies. They wouldn't believe their luck at first. They'd believe it was a trap. Eventually they'd realize that they truly had succeeded and they'd rejoice. Sylvanas hated them for that pleasure at her expense.

Sylvanas gripped the reins of her mount and continued towards Hillsbrad Foothills. She rode quickly through the Foothills, not even stopping at any of the outposts commanded by her own people. She moved down into the Arathi Highlands. Soon she found herself out of any contested lands and solidly in Alliance territory. She was now in the Wetlands and the dwarves protected their territory fiercely. To protect herself she cast a glamour. The magic covered her and her mount. Soon the two were changed into a flesh and blood Alliance soldier and her horse. The magic took a lot of energy and concentration to maintain without a focus. She'd never be able to hold it into Stormwind or to even confuse anyone of strong mind face to face, but it would do for now. As long as she kept her distance, and didn't do anything that could lower her concentration, she'd be fine.

South she traveled, traversing land at a fearsome pace. It was at dawn that she finally found herself in the Elwynn Forest, home to the Human capital of Stormwind. She slowed her pace here. The land was crawling with humans and keeping to the trail and charging through would get her caught before she was ready. She planned to meet King Varian and apologize for her actions at the Broken Shore, but on  _her_  terms, no one else's.

As Sylvanas led her glamoured skeletal mount slowly through the thick forest her sensitive ears picked up on a sound. It was out of place in the rest of the forest noises. She stopped her mount and carefully took her bow off her back and notched an arrow. The brush in front of her rustled and the sound got closer and closer…

Suddenly a form came bursting out in front of her. It only took a second for her to realize the form was a human child, her cries being what had attracted Sylvanas's attention. Directly behind her came barreling out a large brown wolf, howling and snarling. Sylvanas readjusted her aim and fired past the human. The child let out a cry as she felt the arrow pass by her and collapsed to the ground right in front of Sylvanas and her horse. Her arrow struck the wolf dead center, sending it tumbling, dead, to the ground.

The girl cowered for a moment, alternating between looking up at Sylvanas and the dead wolf on the ground next to her. Her tiny frame was shaking, her arms held tightly to her chest. Sylvanas realized that she had a basket full of peacebloom flowers in her arms. After a moment Sylvanas caught the sharp stench of urine. The human had pissed herself in fear.

Sylvanas glared disdainfully at the pitiful form on the ground in front of her. Humans truly were disgusting. As she thought that though her mind was filled with images of her younger brother. She'd used to tease him when he'd hid behind her when he was afraid of something. He'd still been a child when he'd been killed, his life ended much too early. She threw a glance at the wolf's corpse then back to the human child. She gave a sigh and dismounted.

She stood above the child, towering over the small form. "Stand up," she demanded. The child just kept shaking. "Where do you live?" This time the child looked over her shoulder, back the way she'd come. Sylvanas was getting more frustrated each moment. A wet stain was spreading across the girl's white dress. The smell still lingered in her mind. It brought her back to the many battlefields and slaughters she'd witnessed throughout her life and undeath. Disgusting.

"Get up," commanded Sylvanas once more. The girl tried to obey, but her legs collapsed underneath her, depositing her back onto the ground after only an inch of movement. Sylvanas scowled and bent down slightly. She reached out at the cowering form and grabbed her by the arm. The girl squealed in panic as Sylvanas picked up the girl and threw her on top of her horse. Luckily for the girl underneath the glamour the skeletal horse was padded with almost a dozen layers of thick blankets to make up for the lack of flesh. It must've felt weird to the girl, but she was too paralyzed with fear to do anything beyond wrap her arms around the horse and hold on for dear life. Skeletal horses were infinitely calm and didn't panic at anything. It gave them way more value than their flesh and blood counterparts, even if that meant having to give up a little comfort.

Sylvanas walked over to the dead wolf and waved a hand over it. The beast shuddered as magic was infused into its cooling body. The corpse slowly got to its feet, Sylvanas's arrow still stuck in its head. She reached out and yanked out the arrow. If the wolf had been alive still the action would've killed it. Arrows were almost deadlier after they were stuck in a foe than when they entered them. The wolf didn't flinch at the action, but a gasp came out of the girl behind Sylvanas.

The Dark Lady of the Forsaken motioned with her hand and her skeletal horse started to walk forward. She took the lead in front of the horse as the undead wolf took to her side. To make new Forsaken took the aid of her loyal Val'kyr, but raising a beast like the wolf, or a skeletal horse, into a familiar was easy work for someone of her power. Looking over her shoulder Sylvanas saw that the girl was alternating between looking at the risen wolf, Sylvanas and just holding on for dear life. It was almost admirable that the girl hadn't fainted from panic yet.

The strange group walked through the forest. Without the glamour, the scene would probably be exactly like what a mother might tell her child would happen if they ran off into the forest without supervision. Captured and taken on a parade of death to the underworld. Sylvanas grimaced at the thought. She'd always relished being the creature humans and dwarves told their children to avoid.

Now though, she wondered how she was supposed to make peace with the Alliance while being the very monster they feared the most? And how could she do so without weakening the Horde to the position of slaves. Almost every race that made up the Horde had been a slave to another power before and they stuck together primarily to maintain their freedom. Thrall's very name, given to him by a human, exemplified this fear. Thrall had made the name a symbol, a strength, but it also still lingered as a warning. No doubt there were already complaints rippling through the Horde that she'd gone soft and was giving up ground that rightfully belonged to the Horde. Sylvanas found part of herself agreeing with that sentiment.

After a few minutes of walking Sylvanas saw a wooden cabin sitting slightly off from the main road to Stormwind. A chestnut colored horse was stabled to the side to the house and gave a snort at their approach. The creature was surprisingly docile for a living beast and didn't panic at the smell of death that clung to the group. Sylvanas ignored the horse as she held up her hand and her mount and new familiar came to a halt.

"Is this your home?" Sylvanas asked the girl.

"Yes," nodded the girl, finally finding her voice.

"Then get down," Sylvanas commanded.

The girl looked at the ground below her in fear. She shook her head. "It's too high up!"

Sylvanas just sighed. "Get down," she repeated in her most commanding voice.

The girl gave a smile cry of fear before starting to lower herself to the ground. Luckily for her the blankets she was gripping onto were secured firmly to the frame of the horse, limiting their movement. Unfortunately, her grip was pathetic and she slipped as her feet dangled a foot off the ground. She landed on her feet, almost kept standing, then fell to her butt on the ground.

"Ow…," whined the girl. Sylvanas almost chuckled at the sight. It'd been awhile since she'd seen such incompetence but it was always much more endearing when a child did it. Images of her brother failing to mount a small hawkstrider filled her mind. She was distracted and took a moment to recognize the sound of someone slowly exiting the house.

Sylvanas turned around quickly to see an old human woman, her eyes fogged over with blindness, and a long, thin walking stick in hand. She was apparently familiar enough with the house that she didn't bother to use the stick, instead holding it leisurely in one hand. There was a look of curiosity on her face.

"Tamara," asked the old woman. "Is that you I hear?"

"Grandma!" cried the girl, Tamara, suddenly finding the strength to stand up and run over to her grandmother. She embraced the old lady at the waist, causing a smile to appear on her lips before twisting into one of confusion.

"Dear girl, why do you smell so foul?"

Tamara became bashful at the question, apparently not in the mood to answer. Unfortunately for the girl, Sylvanas was overcome with a sudden mischievousness. "That would be from pissing herself back in the forest," commented Sylvanas. Tamara gazed at her as if she was a traitor while her grandmother turned in Sylvanas's direction.

"Ah, I thought I'd heard extra footsteps," commented the grandmother, not seeming surprised by Sylvanas's presence. "A horse and a hunting dog too, if I'm not mistaken?"

Sylvanas didn't even raise an eyebrow at the deduction. The old woman was clearly cannier then she seemed and had a taste for showing off. No one showed up Sylvanas. "You are correct. The girl here was attacked by a wolf in the forest. I killed it and brought her back here."

"What did I tell you about running off into the forest?" scolded the old lady.

Tamara became rebellious at the comment. "But I was collecting flowers for the King!" she protested. Then as an afterthought she added, "And for mom, dad and Elise."

"And I'm sure King Varian would appreciate it," smiled the grandmother, her attitude softening. "But you still shouldn't put yourself in danger like that. Now, go clean up and then we can go put them on the shrine."

"Did you say King Varian?" asked Sylvanas, her eyes narrowing.

"To ask his spirit for protection," chimed in Tamara.

"Varian is dead?"

"Oh dear, you hadn't heard?" asked Tamar's grandmother. "He died a few days ago fighting off a demon invasion. I think the young man who brought the news said it was someplace called Broken Shore."

Despite the impossibility of it Sylvanas felt a chill run through her. Varian had been alive when she'd pulled the Horde out of Broken Shore. If Varian had died, it could've only been after. Very likely, it had been because of her actions. That meant her mission had gotten much harder than she'd originally thought.

"Who's the new leader of the Alliance?" asked Sylvanas.

"I heard that Prince Anduin will be talking his father's place, both in Stormwind and among the Alliance," explained the old woman. "Have you been traveling far out of civilized land for a while to not have heard the news?"

"Something like that," replied Sylvanas.

Tamara started to dance back and forth next to her grandmother. "Can I go give the blessing now? I can bathe later!"

"Fine dear, replied the grandmother with a small smile. She looked back over in Sylvanas's direction. "You haven't given your blessing yet, have you? Why don't you join us for the blessing? That way the King's spirit can protect you on your journey."

"I doubt I would get any protection," laughed Sylvanas.

"Nonsense! The Kings of Stormwind bless everyone! Come in! It's only proper!"

"Fine," relented Sylvanas. She knew she could just leave but curiosity had overtaken her. She had to see for herself proof that Varian Wynn was dead. So, she left her familiars waiting still as death outside as she followed Tamara and her grandmother inside of the house. The place looked like any other such human habitation Sylvanas had seen, although generally that had been right before she'd burned them to the ground. This time though she noticed the shrine off to one side of the room.

She'd never cared to learn much about humans before death, or even after. Most of the Forsaken were former humans though and they kept many of the same habits. Most had given up worshipping the light, instead replacing it with near deification of her as their savior. The majority had kept the habit of keeping family shrines to pray to their ancestors for protection though. She'd always just assumed they did so because they wanted to believe there was something after their undeath.

Tamara stood by the shrine, placing peacebloom flowers in front of several trinkets. An arrowhead, a dagger, an alliance soldier commission badge and a wooden carving of the symbol of the royal family of Stormwind. As Tamara placed a flower by each trinket she uttered the name of each person they belonged to. "Mother...Father...Elise...my King…."

Tamara's grandmother joined the girl by the shrine and uttered her own words. "May you all find peace in the Light and in that peace, may you watch over our actions and protect us from that which seeks to do us harm."

Tamara looked over at Sylvanas. "You should say something!"

Sylvanas took a step forward and stared at the wooden carving for a moment. "You were a warrior until the end," whispered Sylvanas simply. With that she averted her eyes and looked around the rest of the house as Tamara lit a stick of incense and her and her grandmother muttered more prayers. Resting on top of a dresser was a suit of armor decorated in the colors of Stormwind. Sylvanas padded over to the armor and examined it. She could feel extreme emotion coming from the armor. Someone had died in the armor. A name came to mind. Sergeant Elise Archer.

Sylvanas had an idea at that moment. The armor was clearly a strong center of emotion for the previous owner. That meant it would make a good focusing point for a glamour. One that could hold up to all but the strongest minds in the Alliance. She turned around and saw Tamara helping her grandmother into a chair.

"I propose a deal," stated Sylvanas, drawing the attention of the two.

"A deal?" asked Tamara confused.

"Yes. In exchange for having saved your life I will be taking this armor and your horse."

"No!" cried Tamara.

Tamara's grandmother studied her with sightless eyes. "Are you really one of such low moral quality to deprive a poor family of their only possessions? And ones that are precious to us."

"Objects such as this armor are only a chain," stated Sylvanas, an image of a pendant in her mind. She'd once been bound by such emotions to an object and in the end she'd only been hurt. "This is a favor. I will leave you with several gifts in exchange."

"No!" cried Tamara, running past Sylvanas to put herself between her and the armor. "It's important!"

"What gifts?" asked the grandmother.

"The first is the life of your granddaughter," replied Sylvanas. "The second will be breaking your chains to the armor. The third will be my horse."

"Why are you taking our horse if you have your own?" interrupted Tamara.

"I need it," stated Sylvanas simply. "And trust me when I say my horse is superior to yours in every way." Sylvanas reached out and touched a trembling Tamara on the forehead. She muttered a spell in gutterspeak, the mixed tongue of the Forsaken, and released magic into the girl. The girl gave a cry as the spell sent an icy chill down her. Then she screamed in fear as she looked up at the undead visage of Sylvanas Windrunner, Dark Lady of the Forsaken and Warchief of the Horde.

"Quiet," she demanded in gutterspeak. The girl obeyed. She switched back to common. "The fourth is knowledge. You now know who stands before you. You can also understand those like me. This will give you protection should you ever need it." Sylvanas reached into her pocket and pulled out an emblem of the Horde. She forced it into Tamara's hand. "This will mark you as my agent. Feel pride in that. You have also been gifted with the ability to control my horse and the wolf will be your new familiar. In life it hunted you, in death it will hunt  _for_  you. Truly a fabulous gift, is it not? This should suffice."

"What type of a monster are you?" asked the old woman in a whisper. "You speak in the tongue of the dead and cast wicked spells upon us…"

"I am the Dark Lady," declared Sylvanas. "I am Warchief, and in ways you will never know, I am your savior. Appreciate that."

Sylvanas swept the trembling Tamara aside and picked up the armor. She easily hefted the armor made for a human and carried it out of the house. She laid the armor down on the ground and signaled for the wolf to guard her. As it did so she started to strip out of her ranger armor. She kept her under armor on, replacing the outer parts with the heavy plate armor. The armor fit surprisingly well and Sylvanas was thankful for that. She heard someone walk up to her and she turned to see Tamara walking right past the wolf familiar. She glared at Sylvanas, tears in her eyes.

"Why?" she asked simply.

"For the Horde," replied Sylvanas. "And now, I will give you your last gift."

Sylvanas prepared one last spell. This time she drew on the emotions of the armor she now wore. She drew out every last bit of the previous owner that was contained in the armor and wrapped herself in it all. In a bright flash of light the image of Sylvanas Windrunner was instead replaced with that of Elise Archer. Her hair was blonde, much like Sylvanas's but with a healthy sheen to it. Her skin was healthy and tanned from many campaigns and adventures outside. Her shoulders were broad and her eyes a bright sea green. Sylvanas reached down towards the shocked Tamara, putting a gloved hand on her head and spoke to her in a voice that wasn't her own.

"Grow into a strong young woman," said Elise, smiling at her younger sister. Tamara broke down completely at that moment. A river of tears streaked down her cheeks as she collapsed to her knees on the grass.

Sylvanas spared one last look at the human girl before grabbing her saddle bags off her skeletal horse. She stowed her armor away, and carried the saddle bags and brought them over to her new mount. The horse was still calm as she put her bags and saddle on her and mounted. She led the horse out of the clearing, leaving the girl surrounded by her new undead guardians. She would never return to that place.


	3. Rise of the Warchief

**Chapter 3: Rise of the Warchief**

* * *

Sylvanas took to the road now that she was protected by the improved glamour. As she approached Stormwind she met more and more people. They greeted her politely as a soldier of the Alliance and she smiled and greeted them back. She was honestly amused at how easy her enemy's land was to infiltrate.

Soon she made it to Goldshire, a small human village at the foot of the hill that led up to the city of Stormwind. Village might be a bit too strong of a word. Goldshire was more of a crossroads and trading post with an inn for those who couldn't manage to afford the prices of the city. She didn't stop, instead leading her horse quickly through the village. Up the road she went until soon she was before the gates of Stormwind.

It really was an impressive city. Large walls, large statues, impressive canals and a bustling, lively populace. Sylvanas hated it all. It was the antithesis to her beloved Undercity. It was a reminder of everything her and her people had lost.

Sylvanas rode her horse slowly through the busy streets. The mood was surprisingly somber as humans walked around in dark mourning clothes, wooden pins or emblems like those she'd seen at Tamara's house visible among them. She ignored them for the most part though, directing her horse through the flow of people and making them move for her. This drew her angry glares, but no one was going to argue against a fully armed and armored mounted soldier. Especially one who looked like she was on a mission. None of these people would ever know how important of a mission it was.

After crossing the canal that cut through Stormwind, Sylvanas finally found herself outside of the castle. She tied off her new horse outside and confidently walked inside. The castle hall was lined with guards who would no doubt give their lives to protect their king. Or to kill the Warchief of the Horde, if they ever found out who was in their midst. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, branching off into a labyrinth of rooms, corridors, and more rooms.

When Sylvanas finally made it into the throne room she was greeted with the sight of yet more guards surrounding the room. They were unimportant though. Her gaze fell upon the throne itself and the almost too small figure sitting on it. Anduin Wrynn, son of Varian Wrynn, wasn't a bear of a man like his father which meant the throne for his father was too large for him. His lack of size was an illusion in the same way it was for Sylvanas. They both might not be walls of muscle, but they contained great power nonetheless. Anduin, crown on his head, was leaning in intensely, trying to listen to and comprehend every word of the man in front of him. He was some frumpy looking noble with too grand an idea of his own importance and was prattling on about some waste of time he wanted addressed. Such people disgusted her.

An advisor noticed Sylvanas and walked over to her, a look of self-importance on his face. "You there," said the advisor quietly, so as not to offend the talking noble. "What business do you have for the King?"

Sylvanas resisted the urge to just walk past and ignore the advisor, instead addressing him. "I have an urgent message for the King from Chillwind Camp."

The advisor studied her. "How urgent?"

"Very urgent," stressed Sylvanas. And with that she swept past the advisor. He took a moment to register what she'd done but before he could complain she was striding past the prattling noble and crouching down to kneel in front of Anduin. "Your Majesty," bid Sylvanas. "Sergeant Elise Archer. I bring word of Horde movement to the north."

Anduin took a moment to register her presence but when he did a look of shock appeared on his face. "You…" he whispered in shock.

"I need to talk to you alone," insisted Sylvanas, drawing surprised looks from those gathered around. "It's vital to the survival of Azeroth."

"How dare you approach the King like that and speak so rudely to him," chided the advisor.

"And interrupt my important business!" whined the noble.

"Enough!" declared Anduin firmly. He looked at Sylvanas, studying her. "You and I will retire to the back room so that you can deliver your message to me in private."

"But my lord!" cried the Advisor. "Surely any message could be said her-"

"I'm not done talking yet!" complained the noble.

"And you never will be," sneered Sylvanas, fed up with the display. "But go on, keep wasting our majesty's time when I come bearing news that could determine the fate of the Alliance. Oh no, both of you carry on while the Burning Legion or the Horde make it to the gates of Stormwind and burn the city to the ground. I'm sure you'll still be important, and have the same important business then, will you not?"

Before either could complain Anduin stood up from his throne. "Both of you will stop harassing a hero and a friend of mine when she says she has important business, is that clear?"

"Yes, my lord!" came the reply from the Advisor and the noble at the same time.

"Very good," smiled Anduin. "Now, could you come with me Sergeant Archer?"

"Yes, your majesty," replied Sylvanas with a bow. Together the pair walked into a meeting room, Anduin closing the door behind them.

Sylvanas smirked at the boy. "I did not know we were friends."

Anduin gave a childish grin. "I've long hoped to make friends with all the leaders of the Horde. Thank you for your decorum...and your rescue. I'm not quite used to dealing with the nobles of Stormwind yet and they're a lot more active than they were under my father."

"That's because they knew they couldn't get anything from him, but they believe they can from you. A strong ruler proves them wrong, at their own peril."

"I'll take that into consideration, but I suspect what you mean isn't quite for me." His expression turned serious again. "Did Vol'jin send you to apologize for your actions at Broken Shore?"

"Vol'jin is dead," replied Sylvanas simply. Anduin's face was filled with shock at the announcement. Before he could ask questions, she continued to speak. "He died at Broken Shore to a demon. The retreat was called because we were being overrun and our Warchief was dying. I will not apologize for making the right call," she finished sternly.

Sylvanas's expression and tone softened at her next words though. "I do regret the loss of your father. Varian was a brave and powerful warrior to the very end."

Anduin nodded, his eyes misting with tears. "Thank you. I'm also sad to hear about the loss of Vol'jin. He was a wise Warchief." Anduin's face scrunched up in thought. "Who is Warchief of the Horde now?"

Before Sylvanas could respond the door suddenly burst open and a large man came into the room. "Anduin," said the man. "I have important news!"

 _Of course he would choose now to barge in,_  grimaced Sylvanas.  _Genn Greyman has as bad of timing as ever._

"I'm in an important meeting uncle Genn," complained Anduin, sounding very much like the child he was still struggling to grow out of.

Genn looked over at Sylvanas as if noticing her for the first time. "My apologies," said Genn, "but I just received news from the home front!"

"The home front?" asked Anduin, his face scrunching as he tried to figure out what Genn was talking about.

"The Forsaken have pulled out of Gilneas," interrupted Sylvanas, enjoying the look of surprise on both men's faces, although for different reasons.

"Yes," replied Genn, exchanging his shock for confusion. "How'd you know that? I myself just received word by messenger hawk and rushed right over."

"It is one of the messages I came here to deliver to King Anduin," replied Sylvanas.

Genn studied her. "Should I know you? Were you one of the defenders at Gilneas?"

"I don't think you'd recognize her," interrupted Anduin. "This is Sergeant Elise Archer."

"Stationed at Chillwind Camp," she supplied.

"And you came all this way to inform us of the sudden retreat of the Horde from Gilneas?"

"No, their retreat from Andorhal," replied Sylvanas. "And all of the Eastern and Western Plaguelands."

"That news seems too good to be true!" cried Genn, shocked once more. "There is no way the savages in the Horde, and that Banshee Sylvanas especially, would do such a thing." He turned to Anduin. "This must be a trap! First, they abandon us to the Burning Legion at Broken Shore, now they try to trick us in our time of need!"

"Sergeant Archer also brought word of the events of Broken Shore," commented Anduin. "Vol'jin was killed in the fighting, it's why they sounded the retreat. They didn't abandon us."

"A likely story!" laughed Genn. He glared at Sylvanas. "Where did you hear such rubbish?"

"Directly from the new Warchief of the Horde, Sylvanas Windrunner," replied Sylvanas, dropping her glamour. She smiled at the shocked Genn Greymane. "I only speak the truth now that I speak for the Horde."

"Murderer!" yelled Genn. In an instant, his clothes were ripped as his form grew, turning in a giant bipedal wolf-man, a worgen. A curse much like her own. That fact did nothing to endear the two leaders. Genn leapt forward and slashed at Sylvanas. She had been ready though and leapt backwards, dodging his attack. Genn moved as if to continue his attack, but found that Anduin was standing in front of him, hand held out.

"Stop this uncle," demanded Anduin.

"She allowed your father to die!" cried Genn. "She's a monster and deserves to be treated as such."

"I am also Warchief," reminded Sylvanas. "And I come here in peace to renew cooperation between the Alliance and the Horde against the Burning Legion. As you already know, I have pulled back my forces from the Plaguelands and Gilneas. Soon you will no doubt be receiving word that a coalition of druids is being established by Hamuul Runetotem to work on cleansing all the lands tainted and ruined by the Scourge. In addition, word should soon come from across the sea about the Horde leaving Ashenvale."

"Truly?" asked Anduin, his eyes wide in surprise. "That's a generous show of goodwill."

"It's just a trick!" yelled Genn. "She can't be trusted. She never could be. The Banshee Queen only serves herself, and everyone else is left to die and rot!"

Sylvanas had had enough of Genn's whining and replied with her own verbal attack. "Says the man who led Gilneas to ruin?" asked Sylvanas. "The man who originally abandoned the Alliance he had promised to serve, an Alliance that included my people. An Alliance that  _failed_  to protect my people. You are not one to lecture me about serving oneself or abandoning others."

"I'll kill you!" Genn tried to move forward but found a barrier of light separating him from Sylvanas and Anduin. He glared at Anduin. "Move aside Anduin, she doesn't deserve your protection!"

"Sylvanas Windrunner is the new Warchief of the Horde," said Anduin. "That means I must treat with her as I would any other ruler. Will you calm down and advise me in such matters?"

"Gilneas will never treat with the Banshee Queen!"

"Enough!" declared Sylvanas. "If you will not accept my gestures of goodwill, then so be it. I've tried to do this the Alliance way, through compromise and negotiation. If you will not agree to that, then we will do this the Horde way."

"Barbaric slaughter of innocents?" growled Genn. Sylvanas ignored the comment.

"Through combat. You and me, no weapons," she smirked at the Worgen King. "Or are you too much of a coward to take me on in honorable combat?"

"You've made a fatal mistake with that challenge," growled Genn. "When I defeat you, the Horde will follow next."

"You are always all talk Greymane," taunted Sylvanas.

"This is insane!" protested Anduin. "We can't solve our problems through fighting each other!"

Sylvanas sneered at Genn. "Tell that to him. I tried to negotiate and he refused. I would happily get directly to drafting terms," said Sylvanas, not caring that she was being petty.

Genn growled at the young king in front of him. "Stand aside Anduin. This banshee might not have any honor but I do! It's a challenge!"

A look of defeat crossed Anduin's face as he looked back and forth between the two feuding leaders. "Fine. I'll allow the challenge, but it won't be to the death!"

"That is acceptable," replied Sylvanas.

Genn transformed back into a human, his shirt and jacket shredded by his transformation, his bare chest now visible. The only thing still covering him a necklace that hung on an oversized chain around his neck. "It'll have to do." He glared at Sylvanas. "We'll go to one of the training fields and fight there."

 _Where you will no doubt have an advantage,_  thought Sylvanas. She didn't say so though, instead; "That will be fine. Will you want a crowd to witness your defeat?"

Anduin interrupted whatever response Genn was about to say. "There won't be any witnesses besides myself and you two. Is that acceptable?"

"It will be," responded Sylvanas. She knew that keeping the challenge and its outcome quiet would give both herself and Genn an out to save face and accept the no doubt overly reasonable terms Anduin put forward to them. The boy had always been a soft-hearted thinker. He wasn't dumb and was thinking ahead. This way, Genn could agree to her terms without seeming weak for losing to her and she wouldn't have to fight off an entire city bearing down on her with pitchforks and torches. His father would've made the matter overly public. Or fought her himself.

"I also accept," growled Genn.

Anduin smiled and looked over at Sylvanas. "Could you put your illusion up again?"

Sylvanas smirked. "Do you not want me to scare that court of cowards of yours?"

"Maybe on another day," replied Anduin, shrugging and grinning much like the boy he still was. "But today we have to be careful. Maybe eventually Alliance and Horde relations will be good enough that you can prank my court?"

"I wouldn't count on it," growled Genn, taking a seat at the table.

"Would you like for me to get you an extra pair of clothes uncle?" asked Anduin.

"Yes," growled Genn. After a moment of thought he seemed to think better of his gruff response and added, "thank you."

"It's no inconvenience," replied Anduin cheerfully. "It's a good excuse to not have to talk to my court for several more minutes." He looked at Sylvanas. "Will you come with me?"

"With Greymane in here, it is not like I have a choice," commented Sylvanas, restoring her glamour with a wave of her hands. Elise Archer once again stood resplendent in Alliance armor, but the wicked smile on her face betrayed her true nature.

"There's always a choice," replied Anduin, starting to walk out of the room. Sylvanas followed. Anduin closed the door behind them then started walking down the hall. "Although, it's not always a good choice."

"That is what being a leader is about," replied Sylvanas.

"That's what I've been learning very quickly," commented Anduin, slightly dejectedly. "Broken Shore was a bigger loss for both sides then any of us ever imagined…"

An image of Vol'Jin flashed in Sylvanas' mind but she quickly stuffed it back inside her subconscious. "That it was. That is why it is important that we work together from this point on, so that those losses are not wasted."

Anduin studied her for a moment through her glamour. "Is that why you're here personally instead of sending someone like Thrall or Baine?"

"We all decided this was for the best," replied Sylvanas non-committedly. "Everyone in the Horde is dedicated to wiping the Burning Legion off the face of Azeroth. Can the same be said about the Alliance?"

"Of course," replied Anduin confidently, although some of that confidence disappeared a moment later. "The Night Elves are, many of them know personally of the horrors of the Legion. The same can be said for the Draenei."

Sylvanas raised a brow in question. "And the others?"

"The Humans of the Alliance will gladly focus on the Legion." He paused a moment, becoming pensive. "No one wants revenge on the Legion more than us…" After a moment he managed to sweep away the dark cloud that had covered his features. "And the Gnomes have told me they're with us one hundred percent of the way, whatever that way turns out to be."

"The Dwarves?"

"Can always be trusted to have our back," replied Anduin sunnily. He let out a sudden chuckle. "Although, there'll probably be some complaining along the way, but that's just how they are."

Anduin stopped in front of a door that looked no different than the dozens of others they'd currently passed while talking. "Well, here we are. Let's grab him some clothes and then we'll head back." He became thoughtful for a moment. "Maybe I should make that two pairs, in case he rips the others in the fight against you. You never know…"

"Your tailors must hate the worgen," commented Sylvanas dryly as they stepped into Greymane's room. She didn't even bother studying the room. She couldn't care less about learning more about her current foe.

"On the contrary," commented Anduin, opening a wardrobe and starting to pull out some clothes. "They relish the challenge. I've been assured that they're close to figuring out the challenge of clothes and armor that work for both human and worgen forms and don't inhibit any range of motion. Even when they're running on all fours. Until that moment comes though, they just get paid handsomely to keep stitching and re-stitching."

Sylvanas smirked. "You are much too carefree for a leader. Telling me information about your forces and allowing me to tour through the halls of your castle."

Anduin closed the wardrobe, a pile of clothes now in his arms. He just smiled at her as he walked past her out the door. She politely closed the door behind herself as she exited. "I know you already have the blueprints to the castle, just like I have the blueprints to Undercity. Which you also know. Is there anything we've actually discussed today that you didn't already know?"

"There is not," admitted Sylvanas. It was the truth, but it annoyed her still that a leader like Anduin could actually exist. And what was worse was that sixth sense that allowed her to see potential in her own subordinates she knew that he'd probably last for many, many years to come. Someone drenched in the light as much as he was succeeding, that might've been the greatest insult she'd ever imagined.

"And unlike my father, I know that those in the Horde can't be intimidated, you especially," commented Anduin. "You can only be treated with the proper respect and hope that you'll respond in kind."

Sylvanas scoffed. "You are right about that first part. It looks like you learned much from the Prophet of the Draenei."

"Velen is a wise teacher," nodded Anduin. "The next question is, are you in the Horde wise enough to respond in kind?"

"I am practical enough," replied Sylvanas with a vicious grin. "You will have to accept that."

Anduin just nodded. "I can."

Suddenly the advisor that had been bothering Sylvanas in the throne room earlier turned the corner right in front of them. When he saw them he gave a little cry of surprise. "Your majesty!" cried the advisor. His face was red, his breath short and his hands fumbled a bit to try to smooth out the wrinkles from his clothes that had been disturbed as he'd run around, clearly looking for Anduin. "There you are! You were taking so long and there's so many nobles who still need to talk to you today!"

"Anything urgent that can't wait until tomorrow?"

Sylvanas couldn't help but laugh at the hopelessly flabbergasted expression on the advisor's face, which of course only served to through the man off even more as he tried to pull together a reply. "Well, there is Baron Dummkopf who is worried that the war with the Legion might hurt his vineyard and Lady Verdammt, who wants to ask if you would be willing to join her, and her four VERY lovely daughters for dinner tonight at their estate."

"So, nothing urgent?" asked Anduin again.

"Well...uh...I guess there was a rumor about the Banshee Queen terrorizing a family down in the Elwynn forest?" asked the advisor, apparently unaware of what urgent meant. "The news was brought by Duke Scheiss as he made his way here this morning. He came across a rather panicked old woman and valiantly promised to carry word to you himself. I guess she was worried that your life was in danger…"

The advisor became very  _very_  confused as Anduin turned to look at Sylvanas. "Did someone get hurt?"

Sylvanas shrugged. "I saved a girl's life from a wolf. The grandmother is overreacting."

"Everyone is fine?"

"Yes."

"Good," said Anduin, smiling. "Should I be worried for my life?"

"Constantly," stated Sylvanas simply. "But that is what it means to be a ruler. In this case, no more worried than usual."

"I'll consider your advice," replied Anduin. He turned back to the absolutely flabbergasted advisor "Tell everyone I'm sorry but I have sudden urgent business and I'll gladly take their complaints tomorrow morning. If there is anything life threatening, then they should bring it up with the city guard and get it dealt with immediately."

"Where will you be your Majesty?"

Sylvanas stepped forward so that she was face to face with the advisor. "That is important and confidential Alliance business. The more people who know then the more likely we all are to fall to the Legion. Maybe if you had ever in your life demonstrated any type of discretion or good judgement you could be trusted with such secrets, but until then you will continue to stay an insignificant speck in life."

"Wh-what do you know about me…" replied the advisor, trying to sound confrontational and instead coming off as about to piss his pants.

Sylvanas just leaned in closer. "Enough."

The advisor's legs collapsed at that moment and he fell to his knees, shivering in fear. Anduin glared at Sylvanas for a moment before kneeling in front of the man and putting a hand on his shoulder. Holy energy glowed around Anduin's hand into the advisor. "Don't worry about it, everything will be fine," assured the young King. "Just take the rest of the day off after dismissing the nobles, okay?"

The advisor stood up slowly, mumbled his thanks while bowing deeply to Anduin and then ran down the corridor back towards the throne room. Anduin looked back at Sylvanas. "I take it back, I don't think you should be allowed to terrorize my court."

"He will now respect you and your authority after this," commented Sylvanas.

"Because I healed him, not because you scared him," replied Anduin.

Sylvanas shrugged. "But without me you would have never had the opportunity to do so. You are welcome."

Anduin let out a deep sigh. "You don't make it easy for others to like you, do you?"

"They do not need to like me and I never asked anyone to," growled Sylvanas. "I am past such concerns. People only need to understand that I am here and I am not going anywhere."

"Well, thanks for the warning," replied Anduin with a small smile. "Are you ready to fight Uncle?"

"Of course."

"We could always try to bring it up during an emergency Alliance meeting. I'm sure the other leaders would agree with me and together we could convince him," said Anduin."

Sylvanas laughed at that. "Last time an Alliance tried to do something he did not like Greymane left it to die. He will not be convinced by words, only forced to action."

"That's a depressing outlook," scowled Anduin.

"It is a realistic one."

* * *

Sylvanas stood on the training field, clouds completely blocking out the sun and threatening rain. Across from her stood Genn Greymane, his hands crossed across his chest and his face grim. Anduin took a deep breath before holding out his arms out in front of him.

"Today, Warchief Sylvanas Windrunner and King Genn Greymane will battle to decide whether Gilneas will support the Alliance in working together with the Horde to defeat the Burning Legion."

Anduin looked over at Greymane. "King Greymane, will you swear that if you lose you will support the Alliance in this venture, and win or lose, you will still stay a member of the Alliance?"

"I swear," replied Greymane.

Anduin looked to Sylvanas. "Warchief Windrunner, will you swear that if you win you will truly keep up your end of the bargain in fighting the Burning Legion and if you lose that you will accept the outcome as we have agreed upon?"

"I swear it," replied Sylvanas.

Anduin was grim as he walked between the two leaders and held out a hand to each of them. "Then now take my hand, and once again give your promises, this time with the knowledge that there will be no killing the other in this fight.

Sylvanas reached out and took Anduins outstretched hand in her own as Greymane did the same. "I swear once more to the terms and that I will not kill my opponent." Light glowed around the connected hands and Sylvanas realized that the young King had just used holy magic to force promises between the three of them. Clever. She saw from a scowl on his face that Greymane realized that he'd also been played. Maybe she could work with the new King of Stormwind after all.

Anduin released their hands and stepped back away from the fighters. "And now, with my power as Leader of the Alliance, the King of Stormwind, a Priest of the Holy Light and binder of this pact, I declare that the fight now commence!"

Before the words had even completely left his mouth both fighters were flying into motion. Sylvanas spun around with a roundhouse kick to Genn's side but he blocked with a suddenly furry and muscular arm. Retracting the leg quickly she ducked under a clawed hand and struck him with a punch to the chest. The musclebound werewolf was able to take the punch without so much as flinching and swiped once more at her. She rolled to the side and backflipped away as Genn tried to pounce on her quickly. Every time she dodged and tried to make room he was on top of her, shrugging aside her punches which could usually take out a human. Undead elven strength was apparently nothing for the muscle-bound fortitude of a werewolf.

Sylvanas knew that she was outmatched in an unarmed fight. She didn't have a bow, sword or even a dagger like she might usually. Greymane on the other hand _was_  a weapon. His claws could tear through armor as easily as flesh, his teeth could crush bone and his own strength and speed were better than hers. The only advantage she had was that she was Sylvanas Windrunner, former Ranger General of Silvermoon and Dark Lady of the Forsaken. She was much more skilled at combat and had powerful dark magics at her command. Greymane didn't stand a chance.

As she was figuring out her next move she failed to properly dodge a swipe of Greymane's claws and the Alliance armor she was still wearing, with the combined glamour in case of random soldiers walking past, gained a deep new gash on its otherwise pristine surface. A necklace swung from Greymane's neck, the only ornamentation covering his furry body.

Sylvanas ignored the hit scored on her and steadied her footing. When Greymane pounced at her once more instead of stepping away she stepped forward and struck at him with a magically enhanced punch that would knock him through a tree and into unconsciousness. At least, that had been the plan. Instead her punch struck him with the regular amount of force as the necklace around his neck flashed briefly. She barely managed to recover from her shock as Greymane attempted to claw her once again. This time his claws raked against the armor, tearing through the metal easily.

Rolling away from Greymane, Sylvanas prepared to fend him off. "Nice amulet," she sneered. "Anti-magic?" As she spoke she assessed the damage she'd received. The armor along her arm was ripped and some purplish ichor was oozing out of a new gash on her arm, but everything still functioned fine. The problem now was that she wasn't sure of how she should be proceeding in the fight.

"To stop any nasty magical tricks you might have up your sleeve," replied Greymane. "We'll see how you do on fair ground, no weapons or magic to rely upon, just your skills against mine." He was quiet for a moment before growling softly, "and no poison to try to kill me with either."

Sylvanas realized what Greymane was referring to. "I was ordered by Garrosh to invade Gilneas," commented Sylvanas.

"Did those orders include bombing my city with plague bombs?!" cried Greymane angrily. "Killing my son with a poisoned arrow?!"

"Liam took the arrow meant for you," she replied coolly.

"You fired it!"

"Yes, I did. And I would have fired it again. I was working to follow my orders, to bring success to the Horde. I will always do what I believe is best for the Horde, even if that is working with you and the Alliance."

"And that attitude is why you can't be trusted!" snapped Greymane.

"That is exactly  _why_  I can be trusted," replied Sylvanas. "As Warchief, breaking my word now would only harm the Horde. I truly desire this peace between our two sides. It is the only way to survive the Burning Legion. What more do you want from me than what I have already offered?"

"I want my son back!"

Sylvanas glared coolly at Greymane. "No, you do not. You are just angry that your decisions as a leader meant the fall of your city, the death of your people, your curse and the death of your son. I just fired the arrow. I am a convenient target."

"Don't give me that almighty attitude!" spat Greymane. "I know  _all_  about the crusade you went on for  _years_  to try to avenge Arthas for your death. I am entitled to the same!"

"Killing Arthas did not afford me any relief, just emptiness. I was without a purpose, and I made mistakes while trying to achieve my revenge. I tried to fill my purpose in serving the Horde, but Garrosh would accept  _none_  of it, so I tried to prove myself by taking your city and killing you. That did not work, clearly." As she spoke, Vol'jin's lifeless corpse flashed through her mind. "Now I have been entrusted by Vol'Jin to serve the Horde once more and I will _not_ allow you and my past mistakes to get in the way of my mission!"

Greymane crouched down, ready to pounce. "Bring it Banshee Queen! Today you fall to me!"

Sylvanas was a skilled fighter, she knew many, many different forms of combat and war, but none of that was useful now. A Ranger General couldn't take on a werewolf bare handed. A Banshee Queen couldn't defeat an amulet with such a powerful enchantment on it even with all the dark power at her command. She had nothing and was thus nothing.

" _Many will not understand, but you must step outta da shadows... and lead. You must... be... Warchief…"_  Vol'jin's voice once again echoed through her mind. The final line lingered in her thoughts.  _"You must… be… Warchief."_

 _Warchief…_  thought Sylvanas. She was already proving herself as Warchief. She'd gotten oaths from her commanders, inspired her people to action, made compromises and had been working towards aligning with the Alliance against a bigger threat. She was a leader, much like she'd always been. Her own words barely an hour prior rung through her mind.  _We will do this the Horde way._  She'd meant single combat, and that's what she was doing, but she'd also thought she would have her magic.

Thrall, Vol'jin and even Garrosh had solved problems this way, head on with no regard to themselves. They had put themselves into everything they'd done. Cairne had done the same when he'd challenged Garrosh to combat and he'd died to an underhanded tactic, but he'd still died like one worthy to be Warchief.

She was  _Warchief_ , and she realized that meant more than just being a leader. The Alliance had strong leaders, but they had no single person who could match the Warchief of the Horde. Not even Varian, who had been closest to being such, could have truly claimed a similar title. In the end, he was just a King, nothing more. A King in an Alliance, much like Greymane was. They could never compare to the legacy she held on her shoulders now, and that meant she could never lose, to anyone.

Sylvanas crouched down in an unfamiliar combat form, one she'd only ever seen others use. She sneered at Greymane. "Big talk, but can you really back up those words?"

Greymane launched forward towards her. "I can and I will!" He swung at her with blinding speed. "I am King and today I avenge my people!"

Sylvanas held her ground as she blocked Greymane's strike, the ground under her feet shaking at the force of the blow. "You may be King," she started, taking a step forward. Before he could respond Sylvanas was headbutting the Worgen in the snout as hard as she could, causing him to give a cry of surprise. "But I am not." She brought a knee up as hard as she could, smashing into his crotch. Watching the fight Anduin gave a sympathetic wince. "I am the ruler of the whole Horde!" She then swept his legs from out from under him while grabbing onto one of his arms with both hands. "I. Am. Warchief!" Then she twisted around and brought Greymane with her and through the air to end up slamming onto the ground on his back.

Sylvanas glared down at the stunned and bloody Worgen. "And being Warchief means that  _nothing_  stops me. Not even you. Now, do you submit?"

Greymane slowly opened his eyes, glaring up at her with hatred. "Ne-never…"

Anduin walked forward before anything else could be said between the combatants. "You've lost Uncle. Accept your loss like the man you are."

Greymane looked like he would continue arguing for a moment before a look of defeat appeared on his face. "Fine, I accept my defeat. Gilneas will support the Alliance in working with the Horde to defeat the Burning Legion."

Anduin knelt next to Greymane. "Thank you, Uncle." His hands glowed with holy light and that light flashed over Greymane, healing all his wounds.

Greymane transformed back to a human, his clothes destroyed by his transformation, only scraps still clinging to him. He took the hand offered by Anduin and together the two stood. He glared at Sylvanas. "The Horde had better keep it's word this time."

Sylvanas thumped her fist against the Alliance breastplate she still wore, a rare smile on her face and a chuckle escaping her. "I swear as Warchief of the Horde that we will not abandon the Alliance to the Burning Legion and that we will lead the charge against them, with or without your help. We will not back down."

Greymane scoffed as he turned and started walking to the set of spare clothes they'd brought him. "I'll believe it when I see it."

Anduin walked over to Sylvanas with a smile on his face. "I look forward to working with you, even if the reason is the direst of circumstances. I will immediately call for talks among the Alliance leaders and I give you my promise that I will convince them."

"Do not make promises that you might not be able to keep," replied Sylvanas. "But I too look forward to working with you against the Legion. I hope you do not fail."

Anduin eyed her for a moment. "Would you like to rest a while in the castle as my guest? Maybe join me for a meal to discuss further terms?"

"There are no further terms to discuss until I know that the Alliance with work together once more with the Horde. Once you know that, then maybe I will accept your invitation. Until then, I do not eat and do not need to rest. I will be immediately heading home, I cannot rest as Warchief, there is still much to be done."

Anduin nodded. "I understand. Do you mind if I walk you out of the city, to make sure nothing befalls you? We do have a few priests and paladins who I believe could see past your glamour and I wouldn't hate for one to try to slay you when you're walking through the marketplace."

Sylvanas laughed coldly. "You mean you would hate for one of them to be killed while in the marketplace."

"As you say," conceded Anduin.

"I think I may actually enjoy working with you," commented Sylvanas.

Anduin laughed at that. "I sure hope so." He looked over his shoulder at a now fully dressed Genn Greymane. "Are you going to join me in seeing our esteemed guest off, Uncle?"

Genn scowled at him. "I think I'll have to decline that offer. I'm going to buy a bottle and prepare myself to sing my  _praise_  for the Horde at the upcoming meeting." And with that Genn stalked off across the field, presumably to the nearest tavern.

Anduin gave a sigh. "Oh well. Let's go."

The two leaders retrieved Sylvanas's horse and together walked through the streets of Stormwind, attracting much attention and taking a long time to clear through the crowds that gathered around the new King, many giving condolences and others expressing confidence in his new reign.

Soon they made it to the gate of Stormwind and Sylvanas got onto her horse. Anduin held out his hand and she took it, shaking it in the human style. The crowd around them eyed her in fascination, probably wondering who she was to warrant such treatment from the King.

"Have a safe trip and I look forward to working with you in the future," bid Anduin with a smile.

Sylvanas returned the smile, although hers was a lot more predatory. "I also look forward to the future. Just imagining the looks on your Nobles' faces when they realize what just happened will keep me amused." She looked around at the muttering crowd. "Now before I contribute to any more wild rumors I will be off. There is much to do. Farewell."

And without any more words she galloped her horse out of the city as fast as she could, not caring for the messenger who almost got flattened before rushing out of the way in time. She was Warchief, and her biggest obstacle to success had been defeated. She wanted nothing more to run with the wind like her ancestors had been said to do once. Even if she had to kill the horse to achieve such a pace. She whipped the reins. "Faster!" The horse complied, galloping faster than any undead stead could manage.

As the sun set around her she couldn't help but feel that it was going to be a good night.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**  And that's the end. This was so much fun to right. Sylvanas was so entertaining to write being a consistently horrible person. Anduin was a break out character when writing this. I wasn't expecting him to be as entertaining to write or as much of a personality match, and foil, for Sylvanas. It was a nice surprise. I do not apologize for the horrible names of the OC side characters. For anyone who doesn't get any references or puns, you're probably not missing much.


End file.
